A Different Demon
by Telegram
Summary: After Alistair becomes King of Felderen, he dispatches the Warden to the South to quell disturbances. However, there is another warrior who appeared there as well: One who has also been called a demon.


Noble Six sniffed the air. The smell of burnt alien flesh that last lingered in it was gone, replaced with… burning wood. _Huh, no matter where I go_, thought Six, frowning. He thought the afterlife would be different. _Maybe we would all dance in circles around the Great Mother Tree singing… I don't know why I thought that. Probably those eco-terrorists I "dealt" with._ This, in actuality, probably was where the idea had sprung. The eco-terrorists had managed to capture him, being masters of camouflage. What followed was a month-and-a-half of Intensive Brain-Washing 106. While escaping, he burned down the Almost Great Mother Tree and the surrounding Children of the Almost Great Mother Tree, as the forest had been named. Even the eco-terrorists, staunch defenders of the "fire brings new life to the forest" theory, were unable to see any good coming out of such a wasteland, that is, those that were still alive, of course.

Having discarded the afterlife notion after seeing no circle-tree-dancing groups, the Noble Team member thankfully reflected that the world he was on didn't seem to be a warzone or half-way melted. This done, Six gazed at the view presented before him, sizing it up. He was in a dark wood, filled with tall cedars and pine trees, that seemed to be in a hilly valley. Through a break in the trees he could see tall, grey mountains shrouded in fog. The smoke seemed to be rising further down the valley to the south.

Six checked his gear. _One knife, all my armor… no helmet. Blast it. _Whatever had brought him here, be it Covie tech or his apparent death, had left him poorly equipped. All his weapons were gone, the last thing he remembered was… his death. _Bet that's something not many people can say._ Noble Six was rather odd in that area. Though incredibly intelligent, Six wasn't one to ponder on details such as these. He had become that horror of all horrors, a soldier that is callous. The horrendously heartless human loped off to reconnoiter the area, tromping and stomping on every daisy he could find.

* * *

It was a beautiful day in Felderen's capital city, and all the servants in the palace were cowering in their corners. An... unpleasant visitor had arrived, one that neither they nor the king were always happy to see, for differing reasons. The king's reason was that he was reminded exactly how he became the king whenever the visitor arrived. The servants and guards were displeased because the king did not go out and heavily tax a town when angry or frustrated, in the time honored tradition of his ancestry. Not that they minded him not taxing towns, but when he took it out, so to speak, on the servants it was rather hard for them to think of the good of all Ferelden.

The king expressed his frustration in a manner of ways. He would start with the cooks by insisting that a scrumptious dinner would be made, fit for the Orlesian Queen herself. Next, the King's Guard was made to stand at attention for four hours, to, as the King of Ferelden put it, "Welcome our lovely Guest." The maids would scrub all the floors, twice, and dust the castle, twice, and change all the sheets probably just once, because the king was usually feeling a little better right then. They were universally envied. If anyone objected or didn't perform their task adequately he would throw them out, quite literally. This usually happened at the same time the certain visitor was leaving. Being thrown into the street while Ferelden's formerly last Grey Warden watched was not a pleasing feeling. Even if she was only around four-and-a-half feet tall and a mage.

Alistair sighed. It was time for him to angst it up. In a way, he was glad for the visits, despite the bad memories brought up. He'd never have any time for self-pity otherwise. So, right now he was going to seize the golden ball of opportunity and wonder why he was chosen as a king, reflect on how much of a mess Ferelden was, and contemplate the mage-templar troubles. This was all done with a sour expression, conveying to Neira that her sovereign was displeased with both at being made into her sovereign, issues in general, and the Loghain Problem, though the latter was becoming less of a Problem day by day. He was dead, after all. _She probably suggested the kingship to the Landsmeet just to annoy me. And then was delighted to find her suggestion actually brought to fruition_. The elf in question, the Warden and savior of Felderen, plopped down in a seat, smirked at him, and put one ridiculously huge boot up on his desk. "So, Alistair, why the summons? Anyone would think you _weren't_ happy to see little old me." The king of Felderen glowered at her. "The summons," he gritted out, "are not to make his royal highness's displeasure known, or so my conscience tells me every night. Rather," he continued, a bit more mildly, "There is an actual reason for them."

Neira Surana raised one eyebrow at this and swung another huge boot up onto Alistair's furniture. He winced. She smirked again. It was an annoying habit of hers, smirking at him. She sat up a bit straighter, or as much as she could with her legs propped up on her sovereign's desk. "I bet I know. There's been more darkspawn sightings near the North Road, hasn't there? You need someone to check it out." Alistair nodded. "Why choose me then?" She frowned playfully. "Alistair, are you hiding something? Are you trying to kill me off?" He scowled, took a deep breath while ignoring her second statement, and said, "Ferelden may have to go to war with Orlais. Thus, I cannot afford to send soldiers on patrol for darkspawn. I'm even going to have to start training new ones because of the increased number of bandit raids. I wouldn't be surprised to find out **she's** behind them. I've probably only got until the campaigning season this summer."

This time both eyebrows went up on Neria's face. "But… why a war?" Alistair sighed again, longer this time. "She wrote to me, what's-her-name, Celene. It seems that she had almost reached an 'agreement' with Cailan. Now that he is dead, gone, and replaced by the rather less illustrious me, not to mention a greatly weakened country, she is breaking off all ties. In rather an impolite and pugnacious way too." He pouted. "No one has time for courtesy these days. People die and, poof, it's like they never existed. I guess it's just what royalty **does**." He finished this with a resigned air and there was silence for a moment. Then Alistair glanced at her hopeful expression and tried to glare. "No, it does not mean I forgive you for the 'Loghain' incident."

She had a doubtful expression. This did not please Alistair. "However," he declared grandly, "It is less worrisome than it once was." Neria smiled slowly. "Now, is that all you had to tell me? I'd like to eat. You always serve the best dinners."

* * *

It had taken Six about an hour, but he had finally gotten within about a mile of the fire, by his estimation, then another ten minutes to check the surrounding area for hostiles before moving even closer. _Who lights fires anymore_, questioned Six. When he finally got close enough, he saw the fire's owners. They weren't covenant, but they weren't human either. _So, blood on ancient weapons, very-early projectile based weaponry: six savage hostiles, requires immediate engagement_, deduced the Spartan. _The two archers go first_, thought Six, then whirled into action.

Charging the genlock archers, they both went down, one with a blow to the temple, or whatever served as a temple, and the other to the Spartan's knife being inserted into its chest. _That should pierce the pericardium, if I'm not mistaken._This aroused the other four just as Six had planned. Unfortunately, not as Six had planned, just as he knifed a shrieking, spindly creature through the throat, cutting off its cries, one of the last two seemed to be a huge horned monster.

"Blast it," he muttered. The ogre charged. Six leaped out of the way, only to have the last monster grab him from behind, giving new meaning to the phrase 'bear hug.' "You will die for what you have done to us," the Hurlock snarled, while they struggled, "It is a pity we could not have fed you to our great Lord, for you must die _now_." "Sorry," choked out Six, "but I aim to please." He slammed his elbow into the Hurlock's eye and drew his knife, putting it into the beast's other eye and continuing into the brain.

The ogre wrenched its horns out of the tree they had been stuck in after its untimely charge. Then, learning nothing from its past failures, the ogre bellowed and charged again, muscles straining furiously. Six waited and jumped up, grabbing its horns, vaulting over onto its back, still hanging on, and stabbed the darkspawn in its skull repeatedly while it thrashed around, trying to get him off, _one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_. _Who do we appreciate? Six!_ Finally the huge beast shuddered to the ground and all was silent. _Well,_ thought Noble Team's last member wryly, _this doesn't seem so different after all. Just me and some monsters to kill._ Noble Six reflected that perhaps life wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

A/N

Working on the second chapter. If you've read the first chapter (this one) before the update (*chants* Anima tua salvator) please tell me if it's a lot better. I also changed the plot.

Videre vos, vermis.

(Just kidding.)


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